


A Real Hug

by I_Am_Not_A_Robot



Category: Peter And The Monsters
Genre: Alternate Universe- Someone Dies, Ghosts, Grief, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sadness, and he shouldn't be, except only one person is dead, look Peter doesn't die in the actual series soooo, the opposite of the nobody dies tag, this is an AU alright?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Not_A_Robot/pseuds/I_Am_Not_A_Robot
Summary: Grief is like quicksand.(An AU where Peter died while battling some sort of monster)





	A Real Hug

**Author's Note:**

> wow, i can’t believe i’m the first to write a fanfic for this series  
> and it’s about /death/  
> nice

The house was quiet. A few creaks could be heard somewhere, but nobody was awake, and for once, nobody was snoring. Silence, peaceful silence, filled the old dwelling.  
Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting lines of white across the wooden floor like some sort of glowing notebook paper. Dill sat on his bed, quiet, head in his hands.  
He couldn’t get the memories out of his head. He couldn’t forget, couldn’t forgive, couldn’t move on.  
Grief pulled at him like quicksand, and he found it was hard to climb out. In his mind, Peter was as alive as ever, and he could almost imagine waking up tomorrow and seeing him at the bus stop, and maybe make a joke. And then Peter would ask if he actually did his homework, and Dill would say no. Together, they’d rush to finish the homework before the yellow bus appeared, even though Dill didn’t care as much about his grades.  
A small part of Dill was certain that if he concentrated on the thought hard enough, it might come true. He’d wake up and go to the bus stop and he’d see Peter’s light brown hair and warm grey eyes, and he’d wave, and Peter would wave back, and everything would be okay.  
It hurt to tell that small part of him that it was never going to happen. It hurt like hell. It hurt so much that it almost felt like his lungs were constricting, tightening around his heart, and he couldn’t keep up with the sobs that wracked his body.  
It was midnight, and Dill sat alone on his bed, thinking of a smile he’d never see again. A voice he’d never hear. A hand he’d never high-five, a leg he’d never playfully kick under a table, a back he’d never hug.  
Not that Dill was the type to hug a lot. It wasn’t something most boys were supposed to do, because hugging- real hugging- was a thing girls did. Boys got to do the whole “half hug” thing. No wrapping arms around someone, just something quick and purposeless.  
If Dill saw Peter again, he’d pull him into a real hug, and he wouldn’t let go. He’d wrap his arms around the other boy and he’d hold tight, maybe smile, maybe cry, maybe both.  
Is this what his life came to? Spending nights fantasizing about hugging? Another twinge shot through his heart when he remembered that it was Peter who taught him how to spell the word “fantasizing”. Peter knew a lot of words. He was way smarter than Dill. So much smarter. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.Memories of the night of Peter’s- Dill didn’t want to say it, but he had to accept it sometime- Peter’s death. He was dead.  
Peter was dead.  
If none of them got hurt, if this had been like any other run-in with the supernatural, Peter would probably have brought it up one day and Dill would screech “I don’t want to talk about it!” because deep down he was still terrified of all the things they defeated. They gave him nightmares, and he always got irrationally scared when he thought of the things that happened.  
To have one more conversation with Peter, Dill would willingly sit down and recount everything bad that he ever fought in perfect detail.  
Grief, the terrible quicksand pit it was, did not ever cease to pull and stretch his heart out until he was sure he’d break, or die, or something. How could he still be alive when this much pain was constantly weighing down his heart, and sometimes he couldn’t even get out of bed because of it?  
Peter wouldn’t want to see him like this. He’d want Dill to get over his death and move on, and be happy. He’d spent so much energy protecting Dill from his own curse, ever since he’d accidentally gotten Dill wrapped up in it just by being his friend.  
Sitting on a moonlit bed, sheets wet from tears, Dill thought back on all the good memories, the things that could not be his to make anymore.  
“Why’d you do it?” he whispered, and felt angry at himself for feeling angry at Peter. All his friend had wanted to do was protect him from the latest monster. And he always succeeded. That’s why both of them- well, one of them was still standing today. The duo always made it out alive. That’s what they did! That’s how the universe was supposed to work!  
This time, it was too much for Peter to handle.  
Dill knew perfectly well that ghosts exist. “Want to join me here, down in regular old living-people world?” Dill muttered, selfishly hoping against all odds that Peter’s soul was restless enough to stay down here and maybe hear him.  
No one answered. No shimmering see-through Peter appeared. Dill sighed, and let himself flop onto the bed. It was time he went to sleep. He didn’t want to wake up in the morning and go to school, and his parents might not care enough to see if he actually went or not, so he could just sneak out the front door and wait for everyone else to leave before returning to his house and sitting on the couch and doing absolutely nothing for the entire day.  
But Peter wouldn’t have wanted him to do that. So he promised himself he’d get up, he’d get an education, and he’d make it in the world like Peter would have done.  
Dill’s eyes closed, and he fell asleep.  
A soft tune played from somewhere above, floating down through the air as if the clouds themselves were singing.  
Peter smiled and offered his hand. Dill could barely see him in the dim lighting, but he could recognize the way Peter helf himself in any lighting.  
“Want to join me?”  
Dill was confused. “What?”  
Peter grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. And then, he pulled Dill close, wrapping his arms around the grieving boy.  
Dill broke down and cried. It was one thing to think about hugging- really hugging- Peter, but having the unreachable memory himself be the one to wrap his arms around him? Dill couldn’t hold back- what, he didn’t know. Maybe everything. Tears, his fear, anger, grief, all the things he’d wanted to tell Peter... everything. Words spilled from his throat, which felt dry and tired from the sobs that shook him. He cried, saying things like “I’m sorry” and “I missed you” and even an “I love you”.  
Quiet murmurs of comfort reached Dill’s ears in response, and that only made him wail harder into his friend’s shirt.  
After awhile, the tears exhausted themselves. Peter’s patient shushing lulled Dill back into a somewhat stable state. He wiped his eyes and nose, too emotional to be embarrassed about the snot that started to dribble down. Maybe Peter couldn’t see it in the darkness that surrounded them. Maybe Peter wouldn’t care anyway.  
Dill finally looked up, only to find a small, sad smile on Peter’s lips. He opened Dill’s hand, and pressed something into it, then closed Dill’s fingers around it. Dill looked down, curious and confused but before he could ask Peter hugged him again, and that brought peace to to the blond’s mind.  
And then Dill woke up.  
He blinked groggily, eyes adjusting to the sunlight that shone through his window. He checked the time: 7 A.M. He had to get up and get dressed.  
Dill sat up in his bed, and just then he felt something in his hand. Something with a sharp corner and a smooth surface.  
Heartbeat speeding up, he opened his hand, and what he saw made his breath catch.  
A paper note, folded up a few times.  
He unfolded it quickly, careful not to tear it.  
A single line of words were scrawled on it in pencil, in a handwriting he had grown to love so much.  
I love you too.  
Dill smiled, for the first time in a long time.


End file.
